Cheshire Cat: A Sly Cooper Fan Fiction
by SeeMePublishedWithOriginalWork
Summary: This is absolutely not a cliche OC story. My OC is not a Mary-sue. This is simply a tale involving a cat con artist, a racoon thief, a lost father and the Clockwerk parts. Takes place between Sly 2 and Sly 3. I'll only update when I have plenty reviews.
1. Prologue

Hello everyone, I'm back. I'm sorry so I've been gone for such a long time, but I was busy with school and my novels. And I'm even sorrier about deleting my Ocean's 11 tale, I was too busy to finish it and I felt so uneasy about having an unfinished story on the internet. But after watching playthroughs of Sly Cooper games (Sly 2 being a favourite since it's similar to Ocean's 11 heists and they actually steal stuff, plus the humour), I've got interested in the Cooper Gang and had a fan fiction day dream that I would like to write out to you. Now I'll only post a chapter every once in a while so I can still keep up with my original novels and fan fiction message board role-play. Now, I'm not trying to make this a cliché Mary-sue story, this is just what I had in mind. And my OCs Tom and Wily have a relationship I based off the best friend relationship between Skulduggery Pleasant and Valkyrie Cain, and between Danny Ocean and Rusty Ryan. So they treat each other like best friends sharing witty insults and comments. And Sly Cooper and the rest of the gang aren't featured in the prologue, but they will certainly be featured in the rest of the story. P.S. This takes place between Sly 2 and Sly 3. And I tried to make it respectively like the games as much as I could. P.P.S. OCs names, middle names and surnames have meanings, look it up. P.P.P.S. Be warned there is some swearing, but then again…Carmelita did swear in the first promotional comic book.

Wow, a lot of 'p's.

The Sly Cooper franchise completely belongs to Sucker Punch Productions, and everything too related to Ocean's 11 like music belongs to Warner Brothers and the creators of one of the most awesome movies ever, while all OCs belong to me. This written work is for entertainment only.

Cheshire Cat: A Sly Cooper Fan fiction

Prologue…The author is too lazy to write the first chapter (Writer's note: Hey!). And when reading this introduction, please imagine it with the introduction music of Ocean's 11.

Thomas Machiavellian Cheshire was pleased to be out of prison. It has only been six months or so, but no one likes to look at metal bars and be with a burly cell mate who smells like rotten eggs out of a farting chicken for too long. Tom took a deep breath to suck in the fresh air, turned around to look up at his robust and smelly gorilla cellmate, and gave the criminal a…certain…rude sign with a…certain…finger, along with a sneaky smile. It caused the gorilla to go into a tantrum, screaming Tom's name and for him to rattle the bars. Sure, Tom now had a new member on his 'Criminals who are going to try to kill me once they get out jail' list, but it was worth it. Before coming out, he managed to get change into the outfit he was wearing when he was forced into the clink: a dark blazer, a white dress shirt, dark pinstripe trousers, black shiny loafers, and black aviator sunglasses over his gleaming yellow eyes and black diamond pupils. The fibres brushed comfortably against his chestnut brown fur on his wiry and tall body and the hole at the back of his trousers was perfect for his flexible tube-like tail. Tom wished he brought a fedora, he would've looked even more amazing with it in between his cat ears and on top of his extra fur (Writer's note: it's the words I'm using to describe head hair since furries technically have 'hair' all over) styled as a few spikes drooping down, with a small grey streak as a sign of age…Tom liked to think it was a sign of his wisdom, a certain family member just thought it was a sign of the fact he needed extra-fur dye. To everyone around him as he walked down the streets of New York, he looked more like a celebrity manager or a Los Angeles detective rather than a world class con artist and thief on parole: sleek, smart, and maybe even...sly. Thank god he had his wallet; otherwise he wouldn't have made it on the next plane to Chicago.

It was worth all the terrible airplane food and awkward flight movies in the world to see Tom's partner in crime again, six months is a far too long for best friends to be apart in different cities, not matter how annoyingly snarky they are. Tom looked around in most of Chicago's museums, art galleries, banks, and jewellery stores to find his right hand man; he was ready to give up until he spotted his almost life-long friend in an arcade, playing a car racing game, spinning a wheel while in a fake car seat to control a virtual vehicle. If you want to use technical terms, his right hand man was actually a right hand girl. The sophisticated black cat with chestnut brown fur rings around her yellow eyes of black diamond pupils...eyes similar to Tom's...was at the age of sixteen. Her extra-fur on her head, surrounding her cat ears, was in a deeper black shade; but in the light it appeared to be a glossy blue tint, all in the style of a medium wavy bobcut with matching bangs. She wore a long black velvet snap tailcoat, an indigo top, black jeans with a hole for her nimble and skinny pipe-like tail, and short black riding boots over her slim yet slightly petite body.

Tom didn't think she would notice him sitting down into the race car game next to her after he lit himself a cigarette, until she saw the 'Player Two Added' words on her screen, "I still really think you should dye your grey streaks into the same colour as your fur, they just make you look too old."

Tom instantly changed the subject, "So, Wily. This is what you've been doing for the last six months while I was in the prison? Playing a video game?"

He missed Wily's remarks and was glad to hear it again...sort of, she spoke back to him with sarcasm and without even looking at him, "Yes, I've been spending my valuable free time playing a still car racing game for seven months straight without food or water when I should've been doing solo heists and cons."

"Six months."

"No, I'm sure it's been seven months."

"You're a strange kid, you know that?"

"Would you rather have a teenage right hand girl who has tantrums to get you to buy her new clothes, or begs for a raise in her allowance? By the way, can I have a raise in my allowance?"

"No."

"I hate you." She grinned when she said it, so Tom knew she never really meant it.

"You obviously been playing for too long, it's melting your brain."

"Smoking is bad for you."

"Anyway, I came up with a new heist plan while in the joint."

"Already?"

"Aww, Wily. Oblivious looks so good on you."

"Really? I think it makes me look bloated. What's the job?"

"10 billion bucks and a couple of Old Masters from Richard Avarice's bank."

"Tempting, one of the most secure banks in the world. But why?"

"Why else, justice. Avarice has been running the Malicious Mafia; they have been exchanging people's lives for the exact amount of money and the Old Masters, his crimes still unknown to the police, Interpol, and other law authorities. I know because most of the guys in the jail I was in were part of his mafia."

"Even more tempting. But please don't say 'justice' again, sounds like something a corny superhero would say. How about good-guy-ness?"

"Alright, for good-guy-ness. It sounds okay, since we're the good guys really. Now are you in? I do need my right hand man back after all."

"I'm in, as long it doesn't turn out like New York City."

"Why?"

"Oh, oblivious looks better on you. I don't want it to turn out like NYC because; oh I don't know...you broke our number one rule: don't get caught."

"It wasn't my fault. If you wound up the wind-up toy a little longer, I wouldn't have gotten arrested."

Wily sighed at the end of race and looked into Tom's eyes, "Never mind. Let's cut the apologising crap and go onto business. I'm in...It's good to have you back, Pop."

And so Tom and Wily Cheshire left as the elite con artist father and daughter duo, once again ready to attempt another heist that will be another well-chatted topic amongst thieves and Interpol.

Wylleighina Cheshire never admitted this, but her father was the best dad in the world. She knew if her dad actually heard her say that, he would boast about it for weeks. Wily was glad she had her dad back, not because he was family...but because she didn't see him as someone older with more authority over her, she saw him as a mere partner in crime and a friend she could tease, with him teasing back. It was like she was the same age as him and were having maturely childish conversations. Although, she did wish for her mum to join the fun, but she can't change the past.

"Ready?" Pop asked as he and Wily were outside of the Avarice bank with the grand reopening ball.

"Ready to blow stuff up? Sure, why not." Wily shrugged, "But why do rich criminals always have fancy parties where their priceless objects are? It's just stupid; they should know thieves like us would go right at the opportunity."

"Dunno, I don't hold the parties, I just take stuff during them." Pop shrugged as well and straightened his bow tie; he sure did look good in a tuxedo for an oldish dude.

Wily glanced down at what she was wearing and back up to Pop, "I feel ridiculous."

Pop shook his head and looked at Wily's simple black silk dress, "I think you look lovely."

"I'm wearing a dress. I don't like dresses."

"Girls wear dresses. And I'm pretty sure you're girl, unless I changed the wrong baby's diapers."

"Not all girls, and I'm not one of them."

"Like I said, you're one strange kid. Don't worry; you'll only be wearing it until phase two."

Before entering the bank's party with fake names, Wily patted her purse. It not only contained a vital part of the plan, but what was closest to her...a DVD she would watch every night before and after a heist on her portable DVD player (Writer's note: usually Wily would have the DVD in a back-pack, but since she was in a formal disguise, she reluctantly had to use a purse.) The DVD didn't have some fictional film; it had a video journal with years of footage of Tom Cheshire and Connor Cooper back in the days of the original Cooper Gang, back when their wives were part of it, back when they were bringing their little baby or toddler kids along with their travels. Formerly made for both Tom's baby girl and Connor's little kid for when they grow older. It was all before everything Tom held dear to him disappeared...except one little girl. Wily only watched it to recall the memories of her as a baby to a toddler, to see her mum's charming happy face.

Wily's thoughts were snapped by the wobbly voice of the incredibly ballooned bear wearing a fancy silk suit known as Richard Avarice continuing with a story, "...And then she said he said she said he said he said she said she said she said he said she said he said he said she said she said he said that the baron was pissed off."

For some reason, the snobs surrounding Avarice laughed along with him poshly as if they had swallowed seals. But then again, one of them was a seal.

"What was he-" Wily began to ask.

But Pop stopped her from there, "I have no idea. After all the rich crooks' balls I've been to, I still don't understand their jokes. Let's begin phase one."

Wily did like her pop's plan, but phase one of it was just plain disgusting. With a sigh of reluctance, she and Pop wandered through the crowded party to make it appear as if they were guests. Within ten or fifteen minutes, Wily fell to the ground with her eyelids shut, as if she was unconscious or dead. Everyone around her shrieked, terrified there could be a dead kitten in a party.

"Priscilla!" Pop shouted Wily's horrible fake name and rushed over to her, checking her pulse, "She's not breathing! Does anyone here know CPR?"

"Richard does!" the yell came from Avarice's bunny publicity agent.

"What?" Avarice hissed.

"Richie, you'll earn a heroic reputation if you save this girl's life. Think about the headlines 'Good Guy Bank owner Richard Avarice does it again! Saves a kitten's life by CPR!' It'll be big!"

Figuring he would earn a good reputation to throw off the law authorities' scent of his true occupation, Avarice went for it. His drooling mouth stuck onto Wily's and he exhaled plenty of oxygen and spit. Once Wily felt enough of his saliva in her mouth, she fluttered her eyes open and saw only flashing lights of journalists' cameras, taking pictures of Avarice posing next to the fully alive Wily...even though she faked being dead with her dad pretending he felt no pulse on her neck. She kept Avarice's saliva within her mouth and hurried after Pop through the surprised crowd.

She heard Pop speaking to a pair of guards/mobsters...a tall one and a short one...in the hallway containing the vault and the Old Masters' gallery, "Hey guys, there's an ice-cream truck outside."

"Really?" The tall one chirped gleefully.

"Yeah, but they'll only give ice-cream to people wearing casuals, uniforms don't-"

The guards/mobsters were already so excited about the ice-cream, that they took off their uniforms leaving them with underwear still on and rushed out of the hallway. A little too casual. Not exactly what Pop or Wily would want.

"-count." Pop finished off, "Why are goons always so dumb?"

Wily couldn't take it anymore, she raced off to a scanner that opens the vault door and spat most of Avarice's saliva onto it and did the same thing with the scanner at the gallery door. The saliva scanners recognized it as Avarice's spit and opened both doors automatically.

"Why couldn't you do phase one, Pop?" Wily grumbled, ready to soak her tongue in beach.

"And have Avarice 'kissing' me? No way. Besides, which would have him racing after a good reputation: saving an unconscious little girl, or saving a guy who's now on parole?" Pop displayed with his hands an imaginary scale, 'saving an unconscious little girl' was winning. Wily glowered at him, Pop smiled and held up two small sausages each on a toothpick, "Would you stop glaring at him if I give you one of these cocktail weenies?"

Wily shrugged, plucked a mini sausage and stuffed into her mouth. She was about to go into the vault, Pop held her back, "Not yet, Wily. The security system is still up. If we take any of the money or the paintings, the alarms will be blaring throughout the building. And then I'll be back in prison for attempt theft, but with you to keep me company."

"Not to mention breaking parole. This is the reason we have phase three."

Richard Avarice was pleased to have a sharp publicity agent like Jenny. Without Jenny, he would be in jail as soon as journalists write up stories about his illegal activities. Thank god she gave the idea of saving that filthy teenage cat for the press. But tonight wasn't about his mafia, tonight was a time to celebrate his recreation of his bank. A nice soothing glass of a martini would've gone down just nicely if his tall and short mafia members hadn't snuck up on him with their uniform masks on.

"What is it, you morons? Can't you see I'm celebrating?" Avarice growled.

"But sir, we have a problem." The tall one spoke first.

"Is it a big problem like we're going to be under attack by the Other Kin, or a small problem like running out of cocktail weenies? Those things are going like crazy."

"The vault and gallery room are on fire."

"What?"

"You know," the short one explained with sound effects and his arms waving around like flames, "Fire. We think it started just a minute ago."

"Look, Inspector Fox is here and I can't let her know that the money and paintings I have illegally are in flaming rooms."

"Because you'll get arrested."

"Well, that and I kinda have a thing for her and letting the building go up in smokes is not a good first impression. Here's what we'll do, I'll turn off the security system with my remote to allow you to get the paintings and the money before they're melted, without alarming the guests or Inspector Fox. I'll get everyone out and call the fire department."

The two mobsters nodded obediently and went off. They didn't ask for ice-cream or anything.

Everyone was finally out of the building, including the lovely Inspector Carmelita Fox. Avarice told them to go out and admire the new contemporary design of the bank. A tall glass skyscraper in a twisted shape like a liquorice stick. Somewhere in the building was a faint orange glow behind the foggy glass. A gigantic red fire truck arrived at the scene, red and blue lights flaring and its alarm blaring. So much for being subtle.

The beautiful fox wearing a long black dress and her luscious black locks up high strolled on her high heels over to Avarice, "Someone set the bank on fire."

"How did you know?" He gasped.

Inspector Fox snorted sarcastically, "Lucky guess."

The firemen dashed inside and took down the flames of both rooms, but Avarice's goons didn't come out of the bank when it was safe. Avarice fiddled with his thumbs nervously, what's taking them so long? He was at least hoping Inspector Fox won't suspect he was nervous for the money and paintings, and expect him to be anxious for his new building.

Avarice pulled Jenny by her business suit collar and whispered into one of her long ears, "Go up the vault and gallery immediately, and see what's taking my guards so long."

"Yes, Mr Avarice." She nodded and rushed up into the building.

Avarice felt a tap on his shoulder, he spun around and saw his mobsters who were assigned to guard the vault and the gallery...dressed only in their underwear? "Where have you idiots been?"

"We went to get ice-cream." The short one innocently licked his vanilla ice-cream.

"While there was a fire going on?"

"What fire?"The tall one dumbly asked and licked his ice cream.

"The fire you told me about! And where are your uniforms?"

"We had to take them off to get the ice-cream."

That simply raised more questions than answers, but Avarice was still focused on one thing as he tugged on his extra-fur, "Do you at least have the paintings and money I've gotten from those victims?"

Inspector Fox's ears pricked up, her arms crossed, "Victims?" Avarice turned around cautiously, stupid slip of the tongue, the inspector continued on, "I think you need to be brought into questioning about this."

Jenny emerged out of the building and scampered over to Avarice, "Mr Avarice! Someone set up the fire and stole the money and the Old Masters!"

Avarice growled, "Duh! Do you at least have something on who stole them."

"They left this behind." She held out an onyx sitting cat figurine with a broad smile made up of diamonds.

A note was stuck onto it. One half of it in suave writing read 'One of the most secure banks in the world? _Yeah__right_.

And the other half was in childish writing with the same pen ink that read 'P.S. Buy breath mints.'

"That figurine," Inspector Fox muttered before she gasped, "The Cheshires! They're back."

The two uniformed guards/mobsters removed their masks in an empty dark alley to reveal themselves as Tom Cheshire and Wily Cheshire, carrying duffle bags with 10 billion dollars and stolen Old Master paintings inside. Ha! Wily grinned to herself, hearing the nervous breakdown howl of the mob boss from a couple blocks down.

"I think that was a good night's worth. Good-guy-ness has been served." Pop dusted his hands.

"Yep, Avarice's slip of the tongue got him arrested and we gave him a taste of his own medicine in a less gory way." Wily kept grinning.

"So, does this make up for New York City."

"You're still here. So yeah."

Wily spoke too soon. Out of nowhere, this black limousine parked instantly at an alley's end. Someone or something emerged out, snatched Pop, and knocked Wily unconscious for real this time, all in one undetectable word.

Wily had no idea why she would say it, but the last thing she said was a cry, "Daddy!"

She hadn't called him 'Daddy' since she was a baby; it was one of those 'on the spur of the moment' things, her dad was taken once again, faded away in darkness as she laid flat on the alley's rough ground. She seemed to have ignored the fire engine's sirens and blocked out the smell of the stuffed dumpsters nearby. Within one black coma, Wily sprung up, awakened and remembered the punch from that thing at what felt like an eternity ago. She was hoping the limo and the thing taking her father was all just a nightmare and she would be back in Pop's arms, prepared for another adventure. When Pop was arrested by the police, she knew his good behaviour would get him out soon, so she didn't sob or anything and simply waited. But this time, Pop could've been taken by criminals more sinister than she had ever faced, this time she knew her dad...her best and only friend...would never come back. Tom was all Wily had ever since her Godparents...the Coopers...were murdered, ever since her god brother disappeared as a little boy, and ever since Jim McSweeny turned himself in, but most of all...ever since her mum passed away. Wily was then all alone, she always thought of herself as too mature and experienced to be blubbing like a baby. But it was too late to stop; she tumbled to the ground and cried into her paws, gathering pools of tears. Wily stopped as she spotted something on a ground. A video tape marked: Instructions.

Who even uses video tapes now these days? Wily thought to herself with one raised eyebrow.


	2. Chapter1:Doubledouble! Toil and trouble!

I think that's enough reviews to get me started on the official chapter one. Thanks a lot for the positive criticism and I have noticed the spelling errors, but every time I try to change them...they just won't come up the official story. Anyway, this entire story is not my OC's POV, it's going to by a first person POV of Sly, kind of like cut scenes but melded with the actual playing. I actually see it as the narration like in comic books.

P.S. Can you please imagine it like the cartoons.

P.P.S. Sly is still annoyed about Wily stealing something before him.

P.P.P.S. Wily isn't better than the gang, they're equals, she's just cocky.

Chapter 1: Double double! Toil and trouble!

An obscure new moon night is certainly a thief's soul mate...or at least an occasional movie date. The pitch black darkness veiling the Heinous Auction House in Sydney was perfect for the heist. After all, Lawrence Heinous deserved to be robbed by the great Cooper Gang: the Heinous family have been stealing from archaeologists for generations, killing them and then take credit for their discoveries, Larry there has been carrying on the family tradition. Everyone saw him as a kind, generous, and popular outback dwelling Indiana Jones-like archaeologist happy to give away his 'discoveries' for a large price. But here's a little secret; he's a total fraud, all an act for good publicity. Even his Australian accent is fake. Well, I was going to give him a taste of his own medicine. But this wasn't just about Heinous; he also had something I knew would bring disastrous results: the Clockwerk tail feathers. Months ago, the Clockwerk parts were taken by the Klaww Gang and their mole, Constable Neyla, betrayed them to keep the parts to herself and become 'Clock-La'. Luckily, the gang and I took out the main source of power: the Hate Chip, leaving the parts rusted, weakened and detached, taking down Neyla's life. And to think she would make a great girlfriend if she wasn't a back-stabbing coward. Anyway, when the cops arrived to claim their evidence...the parts were taken by Doctor Ian Sane, a complete nut job with both science and surgery who wanted immortality badly. While Sane had the parts, he modified them before becoming good as new...and better, and recreated a superior Hate Chip. When he was about to put the parts together, they disappeared once more. I should know...I snuck into his castle to steal the parts until I saw they taken by somebody else; the Cutthroat Crew, and Heinous just happens to be a member. He claimed to the public that the tail feathers were charms of an ancient Native American princess's headdress tiara he 'found' he recently used as an item of display at his auction house. And they all believed him! Once I saw his announcement on TV, I knew instantly I had to get the tail feathers back. With them on display, any criminal could steal them to rebuild Clockwerk's body or even buy them off Heinous's greedy hands to do so...that's why I had to get them first.

"Sorry we're late, Sly. The Murray couldn't drive through traffic." The magenta hippo at the wheel of the stick-shift van apologised, fiddling with his red gloved fingers.

Ever since the Clock-La incident, Murray blamed himself for Bentley's legs getting paralysed, and soon enough blamed himself for every little mistake. I kept telling him it was Neyla's fault and not his. But he just wouldn't listen. Thank god for webcams or otherwise we wouldn't be able to talk to Bentley and he wouldn't able to give us heist plans at all since he was still at the hospital.

"It's alright, buddy. Just meet me at the rendezvous point when I'm done, this shouldn't take long." I replied reassuringly, grabbing my cane and opening the back van doors.

"You might need to make it shorter, Sly," a nasally and austere voice came out of the van's speakers, I turned around and saw a familiar glasses-wearing green turtle on a computer screen, "From I'm seeing by the traffic cameras' live surveillance footage on my laptop screen, an undercover Interpol car is heading its way to the auction house. They're on to us, Sly! We've got to abort! Now!"

"No way, Bentley. It's probably just Carmelita; my little groupie simply wants to have a flirt with me."

"Yeah, your groupie sure does want to flirt with you while you're at gun point." Bentley sarcastically muttered.

"How do you know it's an undercover Interpol car?"

"I just told you how. I saw it with the traffic camera. Honestly, you just don't listen to me much, do you?"

"That is true. But what I meant was that undercover cars usually look like normal cars, how did you know it was an Interpol car?"

"A siren was placed on the roof. It kept going weeee-errrrrrrrr-weeeeee-errrrrrrr-weeee-errrrrrrrr-weeeeee-errrrrrrr-weeee-errrrrrrrr-weeeeee-errrrrrrr-"

"I get it, Bentley. It was a loud siren." I smiled, "Wish me luck."

"You don't need luck, you got me."

"Boastful much? But then again, that is true. Luck is not needed."

I stepped out and closed the doors. I overheard through the metal that Murray was apologising to Bentley, but Bentley kept assuring him that it wasn't his fault. Poor Murray. I climbed onto the van's roof, sprung up into the air and landed silently onto a building's roof. I jumped onto a telephone wire and ran along it until I was above the Heinous Auction House. Although it was a dim night, the view was still...beautiful. All the lights of the city, including the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House, were illuminating against the black sky and the inky water. The reflection of the lights looked like the Northern Lights were brought down to the ground. But there was no time to admire the city, I had to keep moving. I leapt off the wire, somersaulted in mid-air to keep airborne (and to look cool I must admit), and landed safely on the auction house's roof, being next to the sky light.

I pulled my binocucom up to my eyes as I felt it vibrate, signalling to me that Bentley was calling, "This is The Spock. What's your status, Bad Hat?"

"This is Bad Hat. I'm on the roof top now, Spork." I responded in a whisper. Bentley used codenames he made up. At least Bad Hat was better than the codename before that: Sitting Duck. It sounded more like a schoolyard nickname.

"Not Spork. Spock! As in the science and first officer on the Enterprise! The brilliant and tall half turtle, half Vulcan!"

"Bentley, you know I don't watch Star Wars."

"Star Trek."

"Star Wars, Star Trek. It doesn't matter; they're both the same thing."

"Both the same thing? Are you nuts? Star Trek started as a television series in the sixties, set in a distant future on the Starship Enterprise whose purpose is to explore new planets and civilizations! Star Wars was a movie series made in the seventies, set in the past and in another galaxy; about a war between the evil Galactic Empire and the fighting-for-peace Rebels!"

"Oookaay, so they're not the same thing?"

Bentley simply glowered at me on the binoucom's screen until I spoke, "Fine. Just please tell me where the tail feathers are and what's the security like."

He took a deep breath to calm himself down, "The tail feathers are in the Display Hall, which is just in the room with the skylight you're standing next to. The room is filled with motion sensing surveillance cameras, moving laser beams, heat sensitive tiles."

"Meaning the usual?"

"Yep, pretty much."

"Figures. Either this Heinous guy likes the classic security system or is an idiot."

"Maybe both." I heard Murray say in the middle of the communication, as if he was shrugging.

"I'm sure he's an idiot. He built a glass skylight right above the tail feathers; doesn't he know thieves like me could get through it?"

This time Bentley spoke, "Just be glad he did put a skylight otherwise you would be stuck outside."

I slipped the binocucom away and tiptoed to the top of the skylight, drawing a body-sized circle in the glass with the sharp point of my cane. I pulled the glass circle out of the skylight and slid my arm through the hole. I threw the glass disc like a Frisbee at a camera, smashing the little black recording box into pieces. I slipped through the hole and forced myself to slide down the wall to land on top of another camera. I smashed it with my cane before moving on to the next camera, avoiding the moving laser beams. I repeated this pattern till I made it to the top of the block-like glass display case and was ready to steal the tail feathers with ease…that was before something went terribly wrong.

"Bentley, we have a problem." I whispered, communicating with the binocucom.

His slurred voice buzzed through one of my ears, "You man a small problem like you losing your blue hat, or a big problem involving the heist going terribly wrong."

"Wait, how come losing my hat is a small problem? Never mind, the tail feathers…they're gone."

Before Bentley could reply, I heard footsteps passing the Display Hall's doorway: high heels and hiking boots. The awful Australian accent overusing the country's slangs must've came from the owner of the hiking boots, "I must say Miss Shelley, you sure a beaut Sheila, too right! I'm very in-arsed to be with you. You and I are both spunks, and that ain't a porky. Mate, you lookin' fine in that feather tiara. How about we have a pash in my office?"

"Oh, Lawrence," The owner of the high heels giggled, "I have no idea what you're saying…but, okay. Tell me that story again, the one where you fight off trolls to get back the crystal skull and saved the president."

I understood one word amongst the slangs no Australian had ever used: feathered tiara. Heinous had given his dinner date a chance to wear the Clockwerk tail feathers. It was official, Lawrence Heinous was an idiot. I snuck behind the couple in the shadows of the hallway and followed them down to the office. They went in before I stood outside the doorway, waiting for my opportunity while against the wall.

"Sly, where are you? I lost visual." Bentley's voice vibrated out of my binocucom.

"I'm outside Heinous's office; he's in there with some girl and the tail feathers."

"Oh no! This is outside of the plan! We're doomed! The tail feathers should've been in the Display Hall!" Bentley sounded he was hyperventilating and having asthma at the same time, even he had neither.

"Relax; you don't want to alarm the nurses. It's just a little mishap; I'll find a way in. Besides, you wouldn't be doomed given that you're in the hospital."

"Thanks for the grim reminder." Bentley moaned.

Before I could make my move, someone strolled down the hall and made her way into the office. It was a young black cat with chestnut brown rings around her yellow eyes, wavy bluish-black extra-fur with bangs, and a skinny tail. She wore a black tailcoat, a purple top, dark jeans, and black boots. She winked directly at me right when she was entering the office, like she knew I was there even though I was hidden. My head peered in the doorway a little and I saw everything that was happening in the golden and overly furnished office. Lawrence Heinous, the grey and tall rat, sat at his desk: wearing a brown fedora, brown leathered clothes stuffed with tissues to make himself look like he was actually muscular, and held a whip in a paw. Standing next to him was a blonde mouse wearing a red revealing dress…and the tail feathers on her head in a beaded band. The black cat stood on the other side of the desk. It seems I missed some of the starting conversation.

Once again, Heinous spoke in his terrible Australian accent, "Ah, G'day, Constable. What brings you here, mate. Me and Shirley were just going to have a barbie at my house. Boy, ain't she a beaut."

"Cut the accent, Larry. I know the whole 'generous and adventurous archaeologist' deal is just an act. We need to talk." The black cat flatly groused.

"OMG! It's an act!" Shirley dumbly gasped.

Heinous took off his hat, then his jacket with all of his stuffing to show off his real scrawny body, and took out a cigar, lighting it up while grumbling with his true gruff American voice, "Aren't you a little young to be an Interpol officer?"

The black cat held up her badge, "I'll ask the questions around here, Heinous. I know you're part of the Cutthroat Crew, being part of their various crimes. Not to mention you and your family have been killing archaeologists, taking their discoveries, and claiming them as your own. I have proof. Those feathers Shirley Shelley is wearing are stolen evidence of the Clock-La event. You're under arrest."

"Now look here, kitty cat! I may be a crook, but that tiara with the feather charms belonged to a Native American princess that I actually found!"

"Oh, please! What kind of bimbo would believe that story?"

Shirley pulled off the 'tiara' and sobbed, "This isn't the tiara of the great Pocagawea!"

The black cat cynically mumbled, "Wow, big shocker."

Heinous stood up slowly, admitting defeat, "You got me. I'm a total fraud and a crook. I turned out like my family, like my mama. Go ahead and arrest me."

The black cat shrugged and pulled out two sets of hand cuffs: she locked one pair on his wrists and the other around his ankles. She turned her head over to Shirley, "I'll have to confiscate that evidence."

Shirley, still sobbing, obediently nodded and handed over the tiara.

The black cat plucked all three tail feathers out of the beaded band. She grinned deviously at Heinous, "Man, I can't believe you fell for a fake Interpol badge."

"WHAT?" Heinous screech, attempting to break free out of the handcuffs. The black cat gently placed an onyx figurine of a sitting cat with a broad smile made of diamonds, it soon made sense to me and Heinous, "You're Wylleighina Cheshire, Tom Cheshire's daughter and partner in crime of con artistry and thievery!"

"Yes, but don't call me 'Wylleighina'. It's too damn long. Just Wily."

"I always thought you would be a lot older. You know, nineteen or maybe twenty one. And where's your father."

"I think sixteen is a suitable age. After all, I've been doing this from the time when I could walk. And I can drive…sure, with fake licenses. But I'm still old enough to drive. And it doesn't matter if Pop is here or not…I have the Clockwerk tail feathers."

"GUARDS!"

In a matter of second, bulky dingo guards swarmed into one little office, standing behind Wily. Her tail was twitching with nervousness, but the rest of her stayed calm. She bent one of the tail feathers into an arch and threw it up into the air. The guards were distracted by the flying feather, they watched it flew straight through the chandelier's rope; it snapped it and forced the chandelier to plummet on top of the mob of guards. They were all knocked out cold. The tail feather flew back into Wily's paw like a boomerang and she bent it back to its original shape. I had no idea why a teenage cat would want a Clockwerk part, but I assumed it wasn't at all pleasant.

"Really, Heinous. Buff dumb guards. You really are dumb." Wily yawned, "Now if you'll excuse, I'm tired and ready for bed. Good night."

She walked over both the chandelier and unconscious guards, and headed out of the office…only to be knocked out by my cane.

"Really, Sly? You kidnapped a teenage girl?" Bentley groaned on the van's computer screen, it sounded ridiculous to me too.

"Or should I say 'catnapped'! The Murray has nailed it!" He joked and held up a hand for a high five. Seeing he needed all the confidence he could get after the Clock-La incident, I gave him a small high five.

Bentley wasn't easily amused, "Sly, for years the only crime we've done is steal…among other things. And kidnapping is certainly not one of them; I don't want to start now!"

"Sorry, guys. But she held onto the tail feathers pretty tightly, so I had to take the feathers with me. We'll just drop her off somewhere and continue searching for the improved Clockwerk parts. Piece of cake." I looked down at Wily sleeping on our van's floor.

"That reminds me, do we have cake?" Murray asked after his stomach grumbled.

"Fine, Sly." Bentley whinged, "But I'm still annoyed that I went through a lot of planning and security data to get the heist done…all this mangy cat did to get the tail feathers was pretend to be a cop!"

"I'm not pleased someone got to the feathers before me, but at least we have them." I calmed Bentley down.

Murray noticed something shiny sticking out of Wily's back-pack and pulled it out, "Guys! Look what I found! A DVD! I knew we should've brought popcorn."

Curious to see what was on the DVD, we placed it in the DVD player slot of the computer and started to play it. Bentley also watched it by having the DVD's film transmitted to his laptop. The screen began to show a wiry chestnut brown cat wearing a tuxedo in an alley; I think he was holding the video camera.

"Hi, Wylleighina. It's Pop, here with my first video journal entry." He grinned, showing pearly white teeth and fangs.

Next a completely black cat with long wavy extra-fur in a purple silk dress came up next to the chestnut brown cat…she looked very similar to Wily, "Tom, the point of a video diary is to tell your daughter about your heists after they happen, not during them."

"And this is your very critical mum, Katarina. If she's already there with you then I don't think I needed to make the introduction. If not, say she and I are divorced or she's dead, then here she is. Your mum, Kat."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" a voice eerily similar to mine said, the owner being out of the camera's shot.

Tom slapped his forehead, "Oh right. And here are your godparents and gang members, Connor and Mika. You might have already met them, and if not…well, here they are."

Tom turned the camera to a white female raccoon with brown markings, a pink nose, and curly brown extra-fur in a ponytail, dressed in a black sequined dress. And a male raccoon wearing a tuxedo with a normal tie instead of a bow tie, he uncannily resembled me…except he looked ten years older. My parents!

I didn't know how long I held my breath in a gasp when I heard my dad speak again, "I meant that this video diary thing is also for my little boy Sly. Sly and your daughter are sharing the DVD…even though they couldn't share anything between each other without having a fight."

"It's not a video diary, it's a video journal. Journals are for manly yet passionate writers, diaries are for unicorn and fairy loving little girls."

"It's a video diary seeing as you are a unicorn and fairy loving little girl." Dad snorted, making a snarky comment.

Mum was being a bit impatient, "Come on, are we going in or what?"

The camera turned its attention to the end of the alley, where a van parked outside and a faint yet large silhouette emerged out of it. The shadow ran down the alley and as it came closer, the identity was revealed: a purple walrus covered in tattoos, carrying a black kitten only 9 or 11 months old dressed in overalls and a five year old grey raccoon in blue and yellow. Jim McSweeny, Wily and me!

"Sorry I'm late," Jim panted, "But Sly got his sticky fingers on the keys again."

"Keys!" little five year old me squeaked, "Jingle!"

"That's my boy." Mum grinned, "You were right, Con, maybe he did inherit more of your side."

Dad grinned back, "At least he has your eyes. Which reminds me, you look fetching this evening."

"Fetching?" Mum's voice scoffed, "What are you? 100? But it's still sweet."

My parents made their way in for a kiss, the camera turned back to the Chershires before we could see anything. "Okay, we don't want to show the mushy stuff to the kid unless we would want them to throw up."

Kat shrugged, "Yeah, romantic mushiness has never been our thing. Anyway, Tom, Connor, Mika, and I are going to this fancy ball to steal a Monet from an illegal bombs dealer."

"Just a small one." Tom kept two of his fingers an inch apart.

The camera turned back to my dad who was no longer kissing, "He means both the Monet and the dealer are pretty small in size. While we commence our plan, Jim's going to wait at the rendezvous point with the younger you and-"

"Wily!" Little me yapped.

The camera spun back to record Tom, "Sly is still learning how to talk; he's having trouble saying your name. So he accidentally called you Wily, for short. I like it, it's catchy and meaningful. I'm going to have to turn off the camera during the progress of the heist. See ya, Wily."

The camera's footage was cut off, but turned back on to show Wily's parents in the back of a limousine, my Dad holding the camera while at the front end of the long sofa and Mum, who was driving the limo.

"Good morning, afternoon, or evening, Sly…depending on what time it is when you're watching this. Wily's probably watching this too, soooo…hi, Wily. You two might be asking why we're in a limo and not the van, we had a little mishap." Dad hesitated.

The limo stopped at a traffic light and Mum pulled the camera over to her face, "Oh no it isn't. A little mishap was when Alexander Graham Bell accidentally spilt acid on his lap. This is a total disaster like the Titanic sinking!"

"Seriously, how do you know those things?"

"I told you, I like general knowledge."

Tom pulled the camera (still on Dad's hand) around to have it record the view of him and Kat. "Let me tell you what happened by what Jim told me through my ear piece, Wily. Sly was playing with the lock mechanism button of the keys, only until you got jealous. And then you two fought over the keys, they flew out of the thin gap between the window glass and the top line of the edge…locking you, Sly, and Jim in the van. The van has been towed its way to the dump, ready to be squashed into a cube."

"Yes, thank you for the disturbing mental image of our kids and Jim being squashed into a cube!" Kat sardonically snarled.

Almost instantly, Tom changed the subject, "And we stole one of the guests' limos. Why can't I drive the limo? Or Connor?"

The question somehow made both Mum and Kat laugh uncontrollably, Kat took deep breaths to talk to the camera, "Wily, here's a word of advice: don't ever let your father drive. He drives like a grandma with a spasm."

Mum pulled the camera (again, still on Dad's hand) around to give it a view of her and Dad, "Same thing goes for you, Sly. Con is not as slow or jolty as Tom; he drives a simple van like a speeding bumper car. There was this one time when we're casing this mansion-"

"Please, Mika. He doesn't need to hear that story." Dad whined, pinching his nose bridge.

"Sure he does. Every child needs to hear an embarrassing story about their dad from their mum. Anyway, Jim was sick; so after your father stole this forger's statue, he drove the van…WAIT! I can use visual effects!"

"Oh, god."

"Shut up," Mum formed her paw into a fist close to Dad's arm, "Picture my fist as the van and your dad's arm as the mansion's right building wall." Mum repeatedly punched Dad's arm, "He kept crashing into the wall for almost two hours."

"You're not going to keep doing this for that long, are you?"

"Maybe."

"Mika."

"Yes?"

"The red light stopped, it's now a green light."

Mum started driving the limo and the camera was turned around to Tom, "I'm going to turn it off again as we're nearly there. Don't worry, Cooper Gang to the rescue…wow, that sounded really cheesy. Never mind, let's hope you're not dead."

And the footage was cut off again. Obviously we didn't get squashed into a cube and the gang celebrated. The rest of the DVD were more video journal entries about the gang's heists and travels, and with every entry, I unlocked a new memory each time that I seemed to have buried long ago. I remembered that ever since Dad found out Dr M, the former brains of the original Cooper Gang, was really after the Cooper fortune, he kicked him out (but heartbroken a friend betrayed him) and needed a replacement. Fortunately, Dad was already married to Mum during then and she was friends with Kat since high school, and Kat was married to Tom then, too. At one night Mum and Kat finally brought their husbands around when they were meeting up again for coffee. Dad and Tom got to know each other and found out they were more than just the 'wife's best friend's husband' to each other, they became best friends and Tom became the new official brains of the original Cooper Gang as he was already a world class con artist and thief, capable of planning complex heist plans with complicated cons. Mum and Kat joined the gang next because Dad was still needing someone for demolitions and someone for computer stuff. Mum: computer stuff. Kat: demolitions. When Wily and I were born, the gang would take us on their travels. As we grew, Wily and I would play with each other as little kids. Even Jimmy would play with us like an uncle. I couldn't believe I didn't remember her or the Cheshires. The Coopers and the Cheshires became incredibly close; enough to make Wily's parents my Godparents and visa-versa. But the entries stopped once I was eight, and with good reason. The Fiendish Five, including Clockwerk, killed my parents at that final year. With Mum and Dad gone, the gang separated. I knew Jim turned himself in to the police, but I had no idea about Tom, Kat and Wily. Bentley searched for the Cheshires' files and he definitely found plenty. After Dad's death and the gang separation, Tom began stealing and playing cons on criminals alone like he used to, with Kat looking after Wily. Sadly, Katarina Cheshire passed away by an unknown and suspicious cause when Wily was five. Within time, Wily tagged along on Tom's heists and became his right hand man/partner in crime, pulling off some of the biggest con oriented heists on master criminals…but they sometimes involved my kind of thievery and infiltration when necessary. They typically preferred using persuasive tricks than their hands. That part I frankly didn't like about the Cheshires. I mean, where's the fun in stealing if there isn't the adrenaline rush thieves search for?

"Cooper? Is that you?" Wily was waking up. About time too, she had some explaining to do.


	3. Chapter 2: Carmelita Car Chase

Hey everyone, not many people have been reading my story LATELY. So I decided to add a new chapter to grasp more attention. Sooo…ta da, here is chapter two. And imagine this like the comics and cartoons; I always wanted Sly Cooper to be an animated TV show. Anyway, Wily and some of the villains were my creation. The rest fully belongs to Sucker Punch. This is for fun entertainment only. Anyway, I realised something says ago. Since the last game so far was made in 2005, that means Sly Cooper would be 28 in the fourth game. My point is Wily would be 23 in 2012, the year of the fourth game. Awesome! She's now the next Sly Cooper! Oh, and I just remembered that the gang did use ear pieces in some parts of the games, so don't get critical if I make Bentley's voice come out of an ear piece than the binocucom like in the first chapter. And if you hadn't already guessed, ONE of the inspirations for Wily is Daria Morgendorffer, so if Wily was in school: it would be like Daria in school. And sorry if it's a bit short by 2000 words, I was a bit busy. Remember not all of them will be 4000 words.

Chapter 2: Carmelita Car Chase

Wily brought herself back to her feet, groaning and rubbing her head. She seemed harmless enough, but that still didn't explain why she took the new and improved Clockwerk parts. Power? Immortality? Soon enough, she would have to tell me and my gang.

"Cooper? Is that you?" she began to say as she stirred, she continued to spoke when stood up, "My, oh my. You've grown, then again you were eight and I was three the last time I seen you. If I have my math right: if I'm sixteen, you're now…err…"

"Twenty-one," Bentley and I both sighed impatiently. Murray was still working it out with his fingers.

"Right, I knew. Really I did, I was just seeing everything you've done all these years was based on brains and not just dumb luck."

I rolled my eyes, "Yeah, 'cos adding five to sixteen is sooo brilliant." She tried to escape the van through the back, but I pinned Wily against the van's wall with my cane horizontally, "No need to run off so soon. You're our guest, why don't you sit down, have some snacks…and tell us why you stole the tail feathers?"

"What? Can't a girl pick up a fancy sovereign like Pocagawea's tiara?" Wily scoffed.

"Didn't you just say bimbos believe in that story?"

"Now why the hell would I-oh, I see what you're doing. Look, it'll be a long and sappy story if I explain. So if you don't mind letting me go so I could the 'short story' out of my back-pack. And frankly, I can't breathe with your cane against me."

I slowly pulled the cane off of her, but she didn't escape this time. Wily pulled her back-pack off and pulled out a video tape, who even uses video tapes these days? She took in greedy gasps of air and I placed the tape into our old VCR connected to an even older TV set across from the computer and webcam. The screen was brought to life and the video began playing. While all Bentley, Murray and I did was gaze at the screen, Wily turned away. I kept hearing her holding back sniffles and sobs during the whole footage.

Which contained a blurry silhouette in a dimly lit room, the silhouette spoke with an electronically disguised voice, "Good evening, Miss Cheshire. As a polite citizen of high class society, I must apologise for kidnapping your father. But if I told you what I wanted your expertise for WITHOUT holding your 'Pop' hostage, you would've said no…or give me a wet willy…most likely the wet willy thing. Anyway, I want the Clockwerk parts. I bet you have a confused face right now, you would be thinking 'But the Hate Chip was destroyed and the parts are rusted'. Well, some mad scientist has improved the parts and recreated the Hate Chip, and the Cutthroat Crew stole them. Lawrence Heinous, the crew's own hitman and archaeology expert, has the Clockwerk tail feathers; they're in his auction house. It's now up to you to work out the rest of the Intel for your plan and steal those feathers. Once you have the feathers, await for another briefing tape on the next target. You better have all the parts in four weeks, Wylleighina, or else your daddy will be in his own parts."

The silhouette directed the camera to today's Tom Cheshire on the floor: badly bruised, burnt marks, and full of large cuts. He groaned in pain, "Wily, don't steal the Clockwerk parts. I'll be fine, just DON'T do it. You and I are not going to betray my best fr-"

The silhouette pulled the camera back to his blurred face, interrupting Tom, "Blah blah blah. No more talking for you, Tommy. I'm just going to be very straightforward with this, Wylleighina: Four weeks. Steal the parts or your dad dies."

And the video stopped there. No wonder Wily was upset, was concerned and asked, "When was your dad taken?"

She wiped her tears away and exhaled, "A few days ago. Straight after the Avarice Job."

"Oo! Oo! I heard of the Avarice job!" Murray put his hand up excitedly like a school boy.

"Indeed, so have I," Bentley grumbled much less enthusiastically, "If we went to steal from Avarice instead of you and your dad, we would've had a much better plan! You and your dad's plan was so simple and dim-witted. I mean, really, all you did was sneak into the party, pretend to be unconscious so you could suck in Avarice's saliva, tell the guards that there's ice-cream so you could have the uniforms, spat the saliva onto the scanners, plant bombs into the vault and painting room, pretend to be guards to be given PERMISSION to take the paintings and the money while the rooms are on fire."

"Yes, Bentley. We're idiots and you're not jealous." Wily dryly uttered, Bentley didn't reply and only glowered at her in silence.

She turned her head around to face me with a new honest and melancholic expression, "Please, Sly. Let me have the tail feathers. We're god-siblings to each other…so that would mean pointless god-sibling rivalry. But that's not the point, the point is Pop is my family. Sure, Pop and I treat each other like adults instead of a typical father and daughter relationship where the dad reads newspapers and eats a lot, and where the daughter whines, sneaks out of the house to go on dates, and use up her daddy's entire credit card account for needless clothes which she thinks will make her beautiful, but only made her tacky. Sure, we insult each other in a cleverly and witty mature way as crime partners. But he's my best friend and, more importantly, he's all I have."

Looking down in her miserable yellow eyes and diamond pupils with soaked tear-lines down her furry cheeks, I began to have empathy of what she must be feeling. The humongous feeling I possessed when I was eight, the moment I witnessed my parents' murder. It's like you've been filled up with sudden monstrous anger, the need to cry, and what felt like eternal grief. But then I realised she must've felt the same way before, when her mum passed away. Plus, her dad was only taken…meaning she may have a chance to not really feel the true emotion of how she and I felt again. Right then, I made a grave decision: I must not leave Wily orphaned by helping get her dad back.

"Wily, how about this? We do get the Clockwerk parts, but once we have them all. This silhouette guy will probably tell us his location; we'll go to there to rescue your dad instead of giving away the parts." I offered a plan.

Wily glowered at me in the same expression as Bentley did to her, except she wouldn't shut up, "No."

"No? Why?"

"That plan is terrible."

"How is it terrible?"

"I have to work with you."

"Huh?"

"I only work with professionals."

"Harsh."

"I'm not a nice little girl."

Before the endless 'god-sibling rivalry' could continue, it ended as we all heard real police sirens, and a familiar American/Italian sensuous voice, "Come out with your hands up, Cooper! I know you're in there!"

"Inspector Carmelita Montoya Fox," Her name was music to my ears, "I knew she would come around eventually."

Wily raised her eyebrow, "You're saying that like it's a good thing."

"Don't ask." Both Murray and Bentley moaned.

Murray, Wily, and I peeped through the back doors' windows. There she was, in front of the army of loud police cars was the gorgeous Carmelita, her long dark extra-fur in curls with the end braided, silky against the rest of her orange fur, she wore her typical black top, pants, brown boots and jacket. Her amber eyes, red lips, and fluffy tail were full of fury at the sight of me, showing her badge. She was quite the fox…literally. To be frank, I think all she is around me is furious.

"Come on, Carmelita. Can't I gaze upon your stunning looks from this angle inside the van?" I smoothly complimented, it was predictable she was still angry.

Bentley was panicking, no doubt worrying everyone near him at the hospital, "Go, Murray! Drive now! Drive now!"

"Drive what?" Murray grinned cheekily.

"Drive PLEASE!"

"Thank you." He innocently said and started the engine.

Murray drove the stick-shift van into reverse; Carmelita leapt onto her motorcycle and quickly drove metres away before the van rampaged through the police cars and onto the road. All the policemen came out of the cars, surprised by what just happened. But Carmelita was right behind us, the van swayed forward, passing all the cars left and right, and Carmelita followed us every time.

"WE'RE GOING TO GET CAUGHT! WE'RE GOING TO GET CAUGHT!" Bentley hyperventilated as loudly as he could.

"Again, Bentley: you're in the hospital, you won't get caught." I reminded him.

"Oh, well that was mortifying."

Wily snickered, "And you kept saying I'M dumb."

Bentley glowered at her in silence again.

As Murray kept driving, I heard Bentley whisper to me, "Psst. Sly, a word?" I went closer to the computer and Bentley continued in a quiet tone, "I'm not quite sure we should help Wylleighina or even trust her. Maybe it's all a deception to get all the Clockwerk parts. May I need to remind you of Neyla…Clock-La?"

"Okay, okay. But we're family…sort of."

"The last time you saw her, she was a toddler. A lot can happen in thirteen years."

"Um…guys," Murray gulped, "The Murray heard something on the roof."

Wily and I saw through the back windows only a motorcycle on autopilot and no Carmelita. It was really obvious of where she was, especially when there was suddenly a hole in a ceiling, caused by a shock shot.

Carmelita looked down the hole, about to threaten us…until she spotted Wily, "Well, well, well, Wylleighina Cheshire: daug-"

"I heard it all before, Inspector Fox," Wily groaned, "Co-con genius, right hand man, and daughter of con genius/thief extraordinaire Thomas Cheshire. Blah, blah, blah."

"Are you working for the Cooper gang?"

"No. And if I were, it certainly wouldn't be some unpaid internship: I would be getting paid three million dollars every week…plus tutor Bentley in heist planning."

"HEY!" Bentley's voice shouted through the computer speakers.

I didn't know why, but Carmelita was a little sincere towards Wily…a little bit, she wasn't THAT sincere, "Wily…can I call you that?...you're young, really young. You still have a chance to quit the life of crime and have a normal life of a teenage school girl."

"You want me to live a life of in high school where there's a tacky cheerleader alpha posse who think they're all that who would look down at me even though I wouldn't really care, the rest of the girl students crushing on an idiot jock who's more muscles, looks, and egos than brains, everyone put into cliques where the most intelligent yet anti-social and actually cool punks are bullied by cheesy and painfully terrible 'burns' by the alpha girl posse and locker shoves by the jocks, and everyone worried about what to wear to the 'amazing dance' rather than really being yourself? I have one word for that corny torture chamber of no adventure or no intelligence…well; it's more of a sound than a word." Wily blabbered on and on, before finally making a raspberry tongue sound, "Did you really think I am or would ever become one of those wimpy sheep girls? No offence to sheep."

"Okay, back to the drawing board," Carmelita aimed her shock pistol at all of us through the hole, "Hands us where I can see them!"

Only Bentley held his arms up high, whimpering away. But then he realised in a few second he was still in the hospital and quickly pulled them back down.

"Wait…the drawing board? So there was more to your plan than shouting and shooting?"

"Nope."

"Oh, so shouting and shooting was your plan…that plan sucks!"

I chuckled, "I have to admit, that's all she ever does."

"I'll take care of her. I can fit through that hole."

"Can you fight?"

"Nah, I'm actually a huge klutz. I can a little, but I believe deception is needed to get her off us."

I knew Wily would act like a total Mary-sue if she gone up there to 'take care' of Carmelita and win, but I was too big for that hole and from what I heard, she didn't fight at all.

"Hey, Carmy." Wily leaned onto Carmelita's gun, the fox's arm stretched out as she was aiming at nothing.

"Don't call me 'Carmy'." She said grimly.

"Right, sorry, Inspector. How about I cut you a deal? How about I give you the Cooper gang and you let me go?"

Bentley shouted once again, "I knew it! I knew she couldn't be trusted!"

Surprisingly, Carmelita didn't hear that, "No. I want BOTH of you in jail. What makes you think I would let you go? Your age? Your reputation? Your charisma?"

Wily shrugged, "That, and that I have your gun."

"What?"

Wily's tail held up Carmelita's shock pistol, "It's amazing what distraction and a flexible tail can do." Then she made her tail press the trigger and shot at Carmelita's motorcycle, "I recommend a taxi."

Wily jumped into the hole and Murray steered sharply around a round-about, accidentally forcing Carmelita to slip off the van's roof and into the harbour nearby.

"So, can we help you get your dad back?" I asked, her dad was my god-dad so I felt I should help.

"Alright," Wily sighed reluctantly, "But I think I'm really helping you. Now, I'm going to need three million dollars every week and tutor Bentley in heist planning."

"Sly," Bentley said flatly, "Whack her with your cane again."


	4. Filler

**Hey guys, I'm just adding this so the story can be on the first page…why? Because I want more reviews on the story, you see I need more reviews to continue the story, maybe some ideas for what should happen next. **

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**'Sneek peek (not 39 clues related) Cheating Death: Book 1. The Earth belongs to the living, not to the dead-last chapter/epilogue'**

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	5. Hear Ye! Hear Ye!

**Hear Ye! Hear Ye!**

**The main reason why I haven't posted the next chapter in so long was because I had a huge writer's block on it, I was busy with original stuff, and I was trying to think of a scenario (aka the next chapter) where the characters interact with Wily like a normal new character, since it felt like they were treating her as a Mary-Sue in the previous chapters. Anyway, I finally thought of a perfect chapter that shows Sly and Wily are competitive against each other for their different thieving methods and to show Wily was only tricking them in the last chapter! Next weekend I'm going to post the next chapter and PLEASE REVIEW THE STORY! I seems like no one has read it in a while. **


	6. Chapter 3: Betrayal and Breakfast

PLEASE REVIEW! AND SIGN THE PETITION THAT'S THE FIRST LINK ON GOOGLE WHEN YOU SEARCH 'Continue Ripley's Bureau of Investigation Novel Series petition'. And if you're wondering why the second target is the pair of talons unlike in the second game, I've decided to not do that order and do it by going upwards of Clockwerk's body, and there is a possible surprise part in the next chapter, meaning the gang will have two.

Chapter 3: Betrayal and Breakfast

I should've known bringing Wylleighina 'Wily' Cheshire along was bad idea, Bentley was right; Wily shouldn't have been trusted. All she wanted were the tail feathers, of course Wily wasn't dependable, she was a born con artist and experienced thief. No wonder people don't trust me or the gang. I discovered this when returned to our safe house in Sydney, the video connection between Bentley and us was turned off, and the rest of us were fast asleep. Or at least that was what I thought. I was sleeping soundly in my bed, until my ears perked up and heard a small metal clash outside my room. I carefully climbed out of my bed and grabbed my cane, sneakily tiptoeing through the hallway and into the living room/kitchen and found Wily about to climb out of the window. She pushed the lower sash of the window up and without delay a computer across the room turned on with Bentley's fully awake face.

"Aha! I knew it! Look, Sly! She can't be trusted!" Bentley shouted, his voice booming through the speakers, "Co-con genius, indeed. Your feeble mind, Wily, was sloppy enough to not notice the window's motion detectors I sent to the gang!"

I sighed and walked out of the shadows as Bentley unknowingly gave away my position.

Wily spotted me with a smug smile before I stepped forward, "Hey, Sly. You're awake, so you haven't been killed. That's good, I guess." She slipped back into the room and leaned against the window's frame with her arms crossed and her grin wide, "Sure, Bentley, I have a feeble mind. Whereas all the brilliant motion detectors do is turn on the computer screen to show a hospitalized turtle, no laser or robots to stop the thief from escaping."

Bentley stuttered for a while as he tried to come up with his answer, only to have spluttered out, "Shut up."

"Despite that," I shook my head, "Bentley is right. You tricked us, didn't you?"

She raised an eyebrow, "Of course I did. Tricking is the whole concept of a con."

"A con?"

"Yes, a con. You want me to say it slowly. Cccooonnn."

"So the sniffles and the sobs?"

"Acting. I was upset that jackass has my dad, but I needed some sympathy to make you think I wouldn't do something like this."

"What about the tears?"

"Crocodile tears, more sympathy. I never thought those reptiles would be selling them now."

"And the whole 'please let me have the tail feathers' speech with the innocent expression?"

"Again, acting. To have you feel empathy for me and make you want to help me, therefore bringing me closer to the tail feathers. And pretending to be reluctant before I ditch you."

"But what about when you got rid of Carmelita? You could've done that deal for real and snatch the tail feathers?" When I asked that, Bentley had his own smug smile and arms crossed.

"Don't, Bentley." Wily glared at him and continued with her explanation, "I know that, but I needed to earn your trust so you could take me to the safe house where you'll be asleep and I can steal the tail feathers in peace. I say it was one of my best cons yet."

"Wily, your entire plan only consisted of charisma and a Trojan horse strategy, it's simple and laughable!" Bentley spat out harshly.

Wily didn't flinch, "Meh, all in all I believe the whole plan went quite delightfully."

"This shouldn't have been such a surprise," I growled, "All you Cheshires do is complicate everything with cons and DOUBLE CROSSES. It's dishonourable and frankly not very exciting. I mean, I actually felt sorry for you and I really wanted to help get your dad back, but you're nothing but a sleazy backstabber."

"Sly."

"Yeah?"

"You're an idiot."

"Again, harsh."

"Well, you are. Pop and I do use meticulous and consistent scheming which may involve swindling as we are con artists, in order to not get caught. Not to mention our way is classy. While you, however, with your roof jumping and rail sliding is not thievery but noticeable stunts for your adrenaline addiction. I'm surprised you weren't caught years ago. Plus, I don't need your help to find Pop and steal the Clockwerk parts. I heard about the Clock-la job you did months ago, somewhat a disaster."

"At least you said 'somewhat'." I was still annoyed.

"I can do it on my own as I'm a better thief."

"No, Wily, you are not."

"I have the tail feathers in my paws and you don't. I think that says otherwise."

"Oh, please. Being undetectable, which includes running along roof tops, is a huge part of being a thief, and dropping one of the feathers doesn't help. So I'm the better thief."

"I said 'a better thief', not 'the better thief'. Kind of big-headed of you, don't you think?" She shrugged and put a leg through the window, "I have to go. I don't want to miss my flight."

I pulled her back in with my cane and flatly said, "You're not leaving until I have the tail feathers. I'm not gonna let you give them to someone who could rebuild Clockwerk."

Before Wily could start speaking again, we both heard Bentley quietly singing a triumph song 'Wily's in trouble, oh yeah, Wily's in trouble'. Together, we took a peek at the computer screen and saw Bentley a dance that looked like he was stirring a huge pot of soup. Once he saw us looking at him, he stopped. Wily had the courage to say to him, "Good, thanks for stopping." And she turned back to me, "You're going to regain your pride as a thief by acting all macho and snatch the tail feathers away? You know what that is? That's mugging, the sloppiest kind of thievery there is. Pathetic."

"I haven't snatched them away from you…yet. What's pathetic is that you're crawling on knees and surrendering to him by giving him the ultimate weapon."

"Cooper, I don't like the idea of this as much as you do. But if your dad was still alive and he was captured by this same Mister Jackass Mysterious on the tape, would you do the same thing?"

Wily did sound sincere and made me feel I should let her go, but I knew better that it was just another trick, "Wily, nice try."

She coyly beamed and happily wagged her finger, "Dammit. You're sharp. I respect that."

"So you respect me as a thief then?"

"Oh, God no. Can I leave now?"

"No, are you going to give me the tail feathers?"

"No."

"We're just going to go back and forth on this, aren't we?"

"Yup. What are we going to do?"

Bentley pitched in unhelpfully, "Whack her with the cane to hurl her out of the window!"

Then an idea occurred to me, "Okay, how about this. We go with the original plan-"

"I hate it already."

"-this time I'm not doing it because of empathy, which I no longer have for someone as dishonourable as you-"

"Fair enough. I'll file that as a compliment. Keep going."

"-but I am doing it to keep an eye on you, making sure you don't screw me over AGAIN and make your way out with the Clockwerk parts.- "

"And what makes you think I'll stay with you?"

"-I'm getting to that. I'll make you Co-Brains of the heists after the Clockwerk parts-"

"WHAT?" Bentley screeched on the top of his lungs.

I paused my proposal to whisper to Bentley, "Bents, you have strategy and science smarts, but you're in the hospital. Wily has knowledge of cons, street smarts, resources every right man has, and is here. You two as Co-Brains. As much as I hate to say this, Wily could help out. You two can plan and she can take care of everything you need for those plans as she is here with us. Plus I need ALL eyes on her to make sure she doesn't run off again."

Bentley grunted, but nodded.

Wily stroked her chin, "Tempting. It would sure to annoy the crap out of him."

Bentley grunted again, louder, "It is, in fact, right now!"

I continued with the proposal, "-and pay you 11 million."

"How about 13, instead?"

"12."

Her look of consideration was clear that the deal was done, "Fine. It might help get my dad back. This is actually like old time, you and me bickering."

Bentley wasn't too excited about the last bit, "Oh shit."

The next thing we know, all three of us heard the fridge being closed and we saw Murray holding a large sandwich. He was about to take a bite of it, till he saw us and said slowly, "Awkward."

The stinging sunlight peeping through my bedroom window blinds woke me up; I was incredibly tired from last night. Don't get me wrong; I'm used to being up late for heists and I love the night, but every time I wake up in the morning, my body feels like it's made of extremely heavy metal. I sluggishly brought myself off the bed and exhaustedly collapsed back down.

"Wakey! Wakey! Rise and shine!" Murray cheerfully bellowed.

I was so tired; I ended up sleepily muttering, "Sly isn't here right now. Please leave a message after the beep. Beep."

"Come on, Sly. Breakfast is ready and The Murray is hungry," He tried to convince me, only to have decided on a different approach, "Fine." He picked me up and carried me over his shoulder. I didn't bother to say 'put me down' and came out with a yawn instead.

Murray carefully placed me in one of the wooden chairs surrounding the matching table in the kitchen, and where a small bowl of stale cereal and a carton of cold milk. The safe house appeared a lot livelier in the morning than last night. The windows brought in all the bright sunlight they could and amazing view of clear blue sky Sydney despite the lack of colour city lights from the night before. The TV was on; playing an episode of Darkwing Duck, I immediately assumed it was a rerun as the show finished in 1992. And across from the TV was a sofa with Wily eating her cereal.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty." Wily quipped without looking at me and munched on her cereal.

"Good, you're still here and so are the tail feathers." I started pouring my cereal in the bowl.

"Hey, I'm only in it for the money and for Pop," she said with her mouth full, "So I don't take credit or checks. Just plain cash."

I was about to retort when something crashed into my cereal bowl, out from the box. I looked down at it, it was a video tape. It certainly wouldn't work if I poured in the milk first and then the cereal. Either it was a cereal box prize much better than a toy decoder ring, or another video tape from Tom's kidnapper. Obviously it was from the kidnapper. Right then, the computer screen turned on automatically with the video feed connected again, showing Bentley's face again as he chewed on some sort of food he thought was disgusting by his grossed out face.

"Morning, my amicis…and Wily." Bentley greeted.

Wily glowered at him, "Wow, Bentley. That's really clever and funny. Saying a line every TV show had done. That's not at all cheesy. By the way, saying 'friends' in Latin still doesn't make it ."

Bentley glowered back, "Sarcasm is the cheesiest and most simple-minded form of wit."

"Then whoever ELSE was using sarcasm was doing it wrong." She grinned, shutting Bentley up.

After a small silent pause, Bentley changed the subject, "As I learnt recently, hospital cuisine is repulsive, malodourous, and nauseating."

"You could just say it sucks instead of using all those big words." I shrugged and pulled out the tape.

Bentley carried on, holding up a plastic cup of greenish brown slop, "I mean, look at this! This is my breakfast! What is this? Pudding? Mouse? Snot? I just hope it's not crap." He was about to complain some more, yet we all noticed Murray was on another guilt trip from hearing his criticisms, sadly stirring his cereal around. I'm pleased Bentley tried to reassure him, "But, Murray, it's very comfy here. Really. And the food isn't that bad, look." Bentley dipped a spoon into the plastic cup and reluctantly slipped the slop into his mouth, and spat it out straight after. "See…ugh…delicious."

"Really, Bentley? It's delicious?" Wily said teasingly and slowly, "Then take another bite."

I knew Wily was only trying to torture Bentley, and so did he. However Murray didn't notice and Bentley had another taste, "Thank you, Wily. I'm sure I'll express my gratitude by giving you some of this…yummy food when I get out of the hospital."

"Oh, joy." She grumbled.

"Hey, guys," I announced, "Our little friend has brought us another video tape."

Wily snatched it from my grip and glided it into the VCR, "This jackass must be such a penny pincher to not be using DVDs. Or holograms. Holograms are cool."

"Like in Star Wars!" Bentley chirped.

"Star what? You mean that cliché filled shit."

Bentley was frighteningly quiet for a minute or two, and shattered the silence by saying grimly, "Sly, get her out now…and whack with the cane again."

"Bentley," I sighed, "I'm not going to kick her out just because she doesn't like Star Trek."

"Star WARS! We've been over this!" groused Bentley, "I supposed you're right. You fell asleep during the first film of sheer genius and I didn't kick you out. So if you're not kicking her out, are you at least going to hit her with your cane."

"We'll see."

The sixteen year old black cat pressed a few buttons on the VCR and the TV screen changed from the cartoon of a white duck in a purple superhero costume to the mysterious real life silhouette with the disguised voice from yesterday night that made my blood boil, "Good morning, Wylleighina. It is a pleasure to be briefing you again, and I am delighted you risked your pride to have the Cooper gang assist you or viser-versa, all to have your greed fulfilled with cold cash. Bravo." The silhouette cheerfully clapped.

How did that bastard know Wily was with us? I thought deeply to myself.

The silhouette slowed down his claps until he was finished and continued on with the briefing, "Congratulations on getting the tail feathers, and on your attempt of betraying the gang, now that's ruthless and I approve. Anyway, the next target is the pair of Clockwerk talons, now owned and carried by Cutthroat Crew member Vendetta Clandestine. Right now she is in her Milan mansion, preparing for her private soiree to present her fashion design company's new season line with small fashion show. I'm sure with your reputation, along with Mr Cooper's, you won't disappoint me. And you don't want to disappoint me…especially with your father with me." And the video finished off with static snow.

I peered down at Wily, thinking she would actually do the things she pretended to do after seeing the first video, like crying or sniffling. Apparently, she did none of that and mumbled, "A fashion show? I might as well dip in cyanide into this cereal."


End file.
